Bitter Medicine
by Halfpence
Summary: A true adventure requires change, and sometimes even a mother can't comfort. A dark retelling of the original Peter Pan.
1. An Open Window

The air is heavy this time of year, whether or not the window is left open. Mother and father have left for the night, and I am on the far side of our long room. My brothers' beds are pushed close to the window in an attempt to snare any wisp of a breeze God might have left for us. My bed is where it always is, next to the door.

I keep things under my bed. Things I've found. Things I've made. I think maybe my mother has looked in my boxes, but she hasn't said anything yet. I don't think father would forgive me. One day, I'll clear it all out. My brothers always seem to be around though, I always worry they'll wake. Dear Michael is a curious boy, he'd ask me what I had, and I'd tell him. I know I would.

This night however, I was glad for my sewing skills, because this night, a boy came through our window.

Dark hair, dark eyes, he came creeping in the shadows, looking for something. His fingers were long and stained with red clay. He pulled them across the wall and the shadows flowed through them like locks of hair. He found the one he wanted and pulled hard. To my surprise, he held another hand. Long fingers like his own, but struggling. The boy moved into the moonlight and his shadow followed, not as an echo, splayed out on the floor, but standing next to him solid as smoke. It grew taller as I watched, stretching thin like on a winter's noon.

"No use playing games! I know who you are, and I've caught you now!" the boy gave the shadow a box to his ear, and pulled him out the door. I pulled out my longest, sharpest needle and prepared myself for his return, should he prove dangerous. He came back with a bar of soap in hand, smearing it on his feet and hands, on his shadow. I stifled a giggle as the shadow slipped out of his hands and escaped behind the wardrobe. The boy knelt by the window for a moment. It took me a moment to realize what this wild thing was doing.

"Surely you're not crying, boy." I said.

"No. I am not," he stood quickly. He seemed to almost float without the weight of a shadow to hold him down.

"I've never lost my shadow before, does it hurt?" I went to him, to see if some wound could be found on his hands. He pulled away.

"I'm not crying, and I'm not hurt."

"What are you then?" I asked.

"I am... Peter Pan."

"That's who you are, not what you are," I corrected.

"I can be whatever I want to be," he studied me, "who are you?"

"I am Wendy."

"And what are you?"

"I think... I am a tailor."

"You are only a girl, only grown-ups have jobs."

"I can be whatever I want to be. Do you want my help or not?"

"Help?"

"You can't put that on with soap, Peter. I will sew it to you." I held up my needle. Peter looked at it. "Are you frightened?" He held out his hands in offering.

"I am not afraid of anything," he said.

After retrieving the obstinate shadow, Peter sat on the foot of my bed. I pressed his hand, palm to palm against his shadow's, and strapped them together with a tail of ribbon. I picked an ivory silk thread. I'd have liked something a bit darker, to match his skin. I sew with gentle stitches, through the pad of his hands, his feet, where the skin is thick and there are few nerves. Peter doesn't look at me, he watches the needle with curiosity as it pulls through him. I watched him breathe. I felt the steady pulse of blood in his wrists.

"Peter?"

"Yes, Wendy?"

"If you are afraid of nothing..."

"Yes?"

"May I give you a kiss?"

"What's a kiss?"

He met my eyes and I looked down at my hands. I had rust beneath my fingernails and it filled me with a sudden cold. I pulled the thimble from my finger.

"A kiss... protects you..."

"It's so small..." he said, taking it from me. I put it on his finger. He lifted his hand to admire the thimble's shadow on the wall.

"Thank you. Now I shall truly never be afraid. Now I shall give you a kiss." He removed his leather vest and handed it to me. It was tough, and laced in front. I tied it on over my nightgown and sewing apron. Peter beamed.

Peter was up nearly before I finished tying off on the final foot. He threw his shadow viciously against a wall. It hit with a wet slap and went flat; mimicking him once again. In excitement he let out a crow like a cock. Micheal and John were up in an instant. Michael grabbed for his Teddy, but John immediately went for a sharp-ended black umbrella beside his bed. He stood on his bed and waved it at Peter wildly. Our intruder, however, already had a real sword up to meet him. I rushed between them.

"Who is this Wendy? Mother will be very angry with you."

"You have a mother?" asked Peter.

"Every one has a mother," said John.

"Not I," said Peter.

"Then where did you come from, silly boy?" I said with a laugh. John reluctantly set aside the umbrella. Peter pulled me to the open window and pointed to the sky. It was a weighty almond gray color.

"Neverland," he said, "I live in Neverland."

"Where is that?" I started

John interrupted, "But surely you were _born_."

"I ran away," said Peter, with pride.

"Ran away to stay with the stars..." I sighed.

"No stars, but there are Fairies, Mermaids, and Pirates," he corrected me sternly.

"I'd like to see that," I leaned far out the window, a warm updraft from the street below touched my neck and made me shiver.

"Come with me," Peter said. He stood with his hands on his hips. "Come with me," he repeated, softer ", if you want."

I looked at John. He had put his glasses on and was looking very cross with me. Micheal smiled.

"You... don't want to go," Peter took a step back.

I steeled myself, "No, I do. I'm just not supposed to leave Micheal and John alone, is all."

Peter grinned ", Then you will all come with me!" John raised a finger to protest, but was startled to silence as Peter suddenly rose up into the air. Micheal suddenly forgot to be frightened and ran up under the strange boy, jumping up and down. "But first," said Peter, "You must learn to fly."

"First I must gather a few things," I said, and I went to fill my pockets with my sewing supplies.

"Girls," John said to Peter, "always ruining adventures."

"Don't be rude to the Wendy Girl," scolded Peter.

Thread, ribbons, bobbins, thimbles, scissors, needles and pins. All wrapped up tight in a bit of cloth, all into my apron pockets. I also took one small wooden box. It was not the most private of my secret boxes-I would have to trust to fate that they would be left to the mice alone while I was away-but it was the most precious to me. I saw that Peter and John were in a heated discussion, just like a boy, and I lifted the box to my ear. I could hear the soft beat inside. So small, that it had no bass notes to it, tap tap... tap tap... tap tap. The mechanism of my tiny passenger. I put it in my pocket and turned back to the boys.

"In order to leave the ground," explained Peter, "You must think truly happy thoughts."

I laughed, "Thimbles!" I said. And away we went.


	2. Flying

Little Michael swam though the air with ease. He bobbed about merrily and kept up with Peter's speed. I called to him to slow down once or twice, but the boys called me silly and went along just the same.

I saved face helping John, who's flight was halting. He let me hold his hand, though I knew it hurt his pride. John was afraid of heights, and found the endeavor less joyous.

"What are you thinking of, John?"

"I am thinking of fighting Pirates."

"That sounds frightening!"

"Peter says it's fun."

"Well Peter is a liar then," I looked to the bright form ahead of us. The sun had risen behind us, and now the earth seemed to be falling away from us. We were not approaching the horizon. It peeled away from us into the sky. Vertigo set in, but in the dizzying way that a perfect rose bud excites the senses. The feeling buoyed my brothers and I up with Peter.

Peter saw John grinning, "See?" he said, "You need not fear the sky, it's only clouds and bright stars."

John's smile dropped a notch in indignation, "I am afraid of heights, not the sky."

Peter laughed, "Then you are afraid of the Earth, that is even sillier."

"The earth has a great mass."

"Yes, but it only strikes sad, and stupid boys!"

"Look at this!" said Michael from above us.

Peter twirled in the air and ran into Michael, who squealed and did a somersault into me. I would have been cross, but Peter's laugh rang like a bell.

"See, Wendy. There is Neverland!"

I looked up and found he was pointing down. My head spun. I was upside-down. John looked like he would be sick. Michael looked like Christmas morning had come.

"Come on!" Peter lifted his hand to the sky, and I reached down from it. He helped me right myself and Michael did the same for his brother. Now traveling horizontally, we crossed a great forest. I watched my toes underneath, pointed them as if to brush the distant carpet of trees. Peter traveled even faster now, but he kept hold of my hand. My pace quickened, though he did not pull me.

We came closer to the treetops, and I could see the subtle shifts of hue in the leaves. The new trees were vibrant and fresh colored, the old had soft and loving tones, and then the wind would blow and turn up all the undersides in silver and gold.

John spotted the sea first.

"What is that?" he pointed the sliver of water. Peter let go of me to get a better look. "Is that where the Pirates are?"

"No..." said Peter ", that is Marooner's Rock. If there are Pirates there, they will be dead soon." Michael's eyes grew wide. Peter nodded grimly ", Sometimes, mutineers and scallywags are left there. Captain Hook will tie them to the rock, and when the tide comes in..." he paused for dramatic effect.

"What?" said John.

"They drown... if the mermaids don't get them first."

"Are you afraid of mermaids?" I asked.

"I'm not afraid," Peter puffed out his chest and put his hands on his hips. "Some dangers are real. The mermaids come for the sailors, pulling their hair, pushing their heads under the water..."

"You also kill pirates, do you not?" I asked.

"That's different... mermaids are..." he shuddered.

"You're being..." I paused, searching for the word, "hypocritical."

"That's just what mum would say," said Michael happily.

"You don't even know what that means," said John.

Suddenly, something struck my chest. The air in my lungs seemed caught and my throat closed. I looked down and all I saw was the shaft protruding from my heart. I thought I tasted blood, and fell.

I opened my eyes to a dirt ceiling, and a small boy. A small boy wearing John's hat.

"Have you murdered my brother as well then?"

The boy sprung up and shouted, "She lives!"

Other boys emerged and surrounded me. My mouth tasted like metal, and there was a weight on my chest far greater than the threadbare cloth that covered me.

"The Wendy-bird lives." I heard whispered around me. There was a murmuring and then a shout. Michael burst through the crowd with John close behind.

"Wendy, I thought you died!" Michael buried his head in my nightgown.

"My kiss saved her life," Peter's approach parted the boys. I looked down, there was a dimple in the vest he had given me.

"What is this made of?"

Peter ignored me, "Lost boys, why did you shoot at Wendy?"

The boys were quiet for a moment. I smoothed my skirt, and found my box had fallen out of my pocket. I looked around frantically. All these curious boys, if they had found my box, surely they'd have opened it.

"Tink told us to," a boy nearly as tall as Peter spoke.

"Toodles, Tinkerbell is gone," said Peter.

"No, she's here now. She told us a bird was coming. Greater than a Neverbird, with magic foul as a mermaid and more cruel than a Pirate. A fairy-killer."

Peter studied me intently, then laughed, "No, that's absurd. She is not a bird. She is a girl."

"Yes," added John, "and she only learned to fly today."

"A young bird then!" shouted a boy.

"Fairy-killer!" said another.

"My sister would never!" protested Michael, "She tells us fairy-tales every night!" All the boys quieted at that.

"It's true," said Peter, "I have listened to her by their open window."

"A story-teller?" said a small blond at the front of the crowd, "I think my mother was a story-teller."

"Quiet, Slightly," said Toodles.

"Quiet, Toodles," said a boy. One of two, another stood beside him. Both had soft curls and round faces. "You're just jealous."

"Tell us a story!" shouted a boy from the back.

"Yes!" echoed Slightly, "We have saved your life, now you should tell us a story."

I frowned, "Saved me? You might have killed me!"

"But we didn't," said the second of the twins earnestly, sitting beside me. The other boys followed. I tried to think of a story, but a rumbling in my stomach distracted me.

"We will have story-time after dinner," I said. The boys moaned, but they filed out of the room. I could only assume they had gone to find food. Peter ordered my brothers to follow suit, and soon the two of us were left. Peter warmed himself by the fire and I lay back, examining my surroundings.

It appeared to be a kind of cave. It was held up by the gnarled fingers of old roots, woven together tight as a basket in places. There were animal pelts stretched across roots and other branches for the beds and chairs. I admired the knots holding them in place. The boys had many weapons scattered about the place. They kept them leaned against beds, pinned to walls, and tossed to the floor like play toys. They're were also small collections scattered about. A pile of rocks here, a stack of sea shells there. On one wall, a boy had pinned up colorful leaves. I didn't see my little box.

The principal source of light was the fire, but a variety of small lanterns aided. All the light was from flame; all of it gold. None of the shadows were still. Peter's own shadow stretched away behind him, twisting to escape its bonds, but the thread held fast.

Then there was another light, steady and white. It came towards me, stood on my chest. It was the occupant of my box.

One arm was sheathed in rose colored silk instead of skin, and stitches ran down her front. She was pale, her eyes were tired, and her legs shook holding even her tiny body. But she was awake. And angry.

"Tink!" Peter ran to her.


	3. A Dinner Party

I pulled the sheets up to my throat. I was so astounded at her recovery, I nearly forgot the fear of discovery. The fairy shook her fist in the air and let out harsh ringing tones. She was so distraught, she nearly lost her balance. Peter reached out to catch her, but she righted herself with a flap of her wings. She pleaded with Peter, pointing at me, but the boy would not hear her.

"You've hurt my friend, Tink!" He finally said, "I brought her to take care of the boys, to be our Mother, and you turned them against her." Tink protested.

"No. You're sick and you don't know what you're talking about. I won't have it. Leave." The little woman fell to her knees at this. I heard her little heart flutter in pain and I longed to cup her in my hands, to comfort her. I looked to Peter, but he folded his arms. Tinkerbell pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes, then rose with a snarl and flew out the chimney. We both looked at the fire for a moment.

"Poor Tink," said Peter finally.

"What did she say?" my face felt hot.

"She says that you are an unnatural child, that you have killed many fairies. You use their bodies for black arts, and their souls for your own amusement."

"I haven't-why would she say that? How horrible!"

"The fairies are dying... each year, fewer are born and the sickness is everywhere."

"Sickness?"

"And people don't believe in fairies anymore."

"What happens to them?"

"They... die, Wendy," he looked at me.

"I mean... what happens before?"

He paused, then sat on the floor by the bed and leaned in. He spoke softly, "First, they grow cold, and their voices hoarse," he cupped his hands around some small form, "then, it devours them. Eat away their skin and their hearts and leaves them with great hole in their bodies," his hands shook a little, "Then blood pours out from everywhere. Eyes open... they bleed out," he let the memory fall to the cold stone floor.

He went to the fire, and hung a pot over it. It was streaked with grease, but father says that a good cast iron pot is better seasoned. The room seemed too quiet now. Peter sat on the floor by the fire, feeding it small twigs. Some times he removed one and waved it about, drawing pictures in the air with smoke. He wrote a rude word and I laughed. He beamed, and wrote another. The surprise was gone, but I laughed for him anyway.

I sat beside him. I showed him how to use charcoal from snuffed twigs to make pens. He drew for a time, scraping the sticks against the floor, but grew tired of that and challenged me to a sword fight. My bruised ribs scolded me for the movement, but I agreed. Peter proved a swift and dangerous swordsman. He chased me about the room, landing touch after touch. My body felt greatly abused, but I could not stand the idea of losing to the cocky boy. Finally, he disarmed me with a swat across my wrist, and a sharp tap to the side of my head.

"Peter! You mustn't aim for the face or hands when playing. You could hurt me."

"That is how I defeated the most horrible pirate of all, Captain Hook. I cut off his hand and threw it to a crocodile."

"Just like that, in one stroke?" My fingertips tingled at the idea of ringing steel and grand victories.

"Just like that!"

"Like this?" I smacked him on the wrist. We began another skirmish. When the boys arrived home, I still had not caught my breathe. They showed their trappings off for Peter. "A dinner party for our Storyteller," they said. Slightly had caught a fat rabbit, and Toodles had shot down a fine looking bird, which he insisted be roasted and not stewed. The other boys objected to the long wait, but he pouted and said the flavor would be boiled away.

Peter's friends seemed to have entirely forgotten their feelings of animosity to me, and introduced themselves properly before we began our meal. The tallest was Toodles, as I had already gathered. He boasted that he was the one who had shot me; the finest bowman in Neverland. Indeed, his tunic was decorated with a great many feathers. He was either quite practice with his weapon, or spent a good amount of time gathering feathers. I admired the craftsmanship either way, and he was flattered. The twins would not, or could not give me a name. Peter had told them that twins should share everything, and they attempted to stand by this, sharing a title: The Twins. I made note of the slight differences in stature and musculature, and vowed to find a way to differentiate the two. Slightly was the smallest and clearly wanted to be sure he was not forgotten. He spoke so quickly he often started new thoughts in the middle of sentences, and whatever story he was trying to tell, I do not remember, nor did I understand at the time. I was rescued by a soft-spoken boy named Nibs. He seemed frightened of me, and didn't say much.

Michael assisted me in putting out table setting for our party. Though indeed, there was no table. I had the band of boys lay out their bed clothes for seating. We would sit cross-legged like true adventurers, and drink tea out of wooden cups like a civilized party. Michael bemoaned the lack of dessert, but John revealed he had picked some apples on their trip and proposed that we roast them for a treat.

The party itself was rowdy and operated more like a game than a dinner. Boys like to argue, and they liked to throw food. They argued and threw food in anger. Then a game of throwing second helpings to each of us was made, but when Nibs second helping hit Slightly, they just started throwing the meat for fun.

"Boys! This if this is my dinner party, then I desire a bit less broth on my dress, and more in my bowl."

"That's just what mum would have said," said Michael, cuddling his bear.

"You have a mother?" asked Toodles in awe.

"Is she a Storyteller also?" asked Nibs.

"She is." I answered.

"Tell us a story and we'll sit quiet," said Slightly, crossing his arms.

"Very well," I agreed, "Dinner time _is_ a good time for stories. What kind of story would you like to hear?"

And so I told them the story of Cinderella. Michael and John may have noticed that I added a battle or two, but they didn't tell on me. All boys like a good fight, after all.

"Wendy," said Toodles when I had finished, "will you be my mother?"

"She's not old enough," said John.

"You have to be my mother too!" said Slightly.

"You already had a mother!" said Toodles.

"You never had a mother?" Michael held his bear over his face, "Oh Wendy!"

"It's alright, Michael..." I reassured him.

Nibs frowned, "You like Toodles better than me."

One of the twins stood up, "You'll like me even better than Toodles."

"Not you!" said the other.

"Not you either!" said Slightly.

"Quiet lost boys," said Peter, with a hand on each twins' shoulder, "Wendy, would you be a mother to us?"

"You can't, Wendy," said John.

"They need me John..."

"Please Wendy," said Michael.

I looked at all the boys, my brother, then Peter.

"If I am to be your mother, then Peter must be your father."

"Then it's settled then, you shall be our Mother," and with that, he sprang up the the ceiling and all the boys cheered.


	4. Mermaids

That night my brothers and I slept on the floor with spotted furs. I dreamt of the little mermaid. I was amongst her sisters, watching as she mouthed words to her deaf and ignorant prince. Desperately miming her affections far past endurance, and to her ascension into the sky. He could not love her, and she could not destroy him.

Slightly woke me. He had baked a fine bread, he said, and handed me something black and hard. It didn't taste like bread, but mothers play along. The others were not so kind. Though dear Michael hid his in the dust under a bed when the cook wasn't looking, and politely asked for a second helping. Sweet brother.

I looked around the dirty cave and told the boys that with would be cleaning day. At first they were amicable, but then Slightly remembered how much he hated "chores" and they all agreed they'd have none of it. Peter only laughed and offered not support.

"Peter, as the father, you must tell your children to behave!"

The boys swarmed around me. The cave was too dim, and I was still tired. I tried to hold my chin up the way my mother does, the way that makes her look noble and shames my brothers into doing their chores. I don't think I have a noble chin.

"I can't think in here," I nearly beat my fists on the table, "I don't know how to be a mother..."

"It's okay Wendy," Nibs tugged on my sleeve, abashed, "You don't have to play the mother right now. Boys!" They turned to him ", Let's play a game."

"We will play outside," I said, trying to regain some level of control.

"Let's show our new Mother Neverland!" Slightly jumped up and down. The twins pulled me in two directions, heading for the door. I was hustled outside into the blinding morning light. The air in the forest was liquid, stroking my cheeks and blowing my hair. It filled my veins and made my heart beat strong. The broad, dew bejeweled leaves rustled silver and the shadows were brilliant green. Micheal started a game of catch with his bear.

"Look Teddy can fly too!" He reached up to catch it, but Peter popped out of the foliage and plucked it out of the air. "Hey!"

Peter flew ahead and we all ran to chase him, laughing and falling over eachother. Our feet pounded a beat through the forest. We were soaked by water brushed of shrubs and mud was everywhere. I tripped on my skirt, and suddenly felt frightened for my little sewing kit. When we came on a meadow, and John had to catch his breath, I took the moment to sew my pocket shut. I could rip the seem later if I needed it.

"What now?" Asked one of the Twins.

"Another game?" Toodles shrugged.

"I'd like to try my hand at some swordfighting," said John slowly.

"You?" Slightly laughed.

"What?" John scowled.

"You wouldn't last two minutes against the most sea-sick sailor."

"I took two weeks of fencing just this summer," he straightened the collar on his nightshirt.

"See this?" Slightly pulled a necklace out of his shirt, "I keep this to remember, Pirates don't play fair."

I looked closer.

"Teeth!" squeeled Michael.

"What is this Peter?" I asked.

"These are my old mates," Slightly said with unreasonable brightness. "Don't look like that Wendy, I didn't pluck out their teeth..." Michael giggled "the pirates did."

"Bloody hell," said John.

"Don't swear, John. So the mermaids..."

Peter looked at me, "Are truly frightful things."

"And they-"

"Will drown boys and girls like us."

"Peter's afraid of mermaids!" taunted Toodles. The boys laughed.

"Nah!" said Slightly, "The mermaids are fine if you're nice to them. They're just lonely is all." He grabbed my arm and tugged me on. Toodles bounced ahead of us toward the path.

"No, no!" Peter flew ahead of us, "It's not like that at all. They're..."

"They're what?" asked John.

"They're not right," he finished.

"It doesn't sound like you have an acceptable argument against _mermaids_, come on boys!" John motioned the boys on.

"Let's show her the mermaids!" Toodles cheered and we continued on.

Peter glowered the whole way there, drifting lazily above us with his arms folded.

"You're not setting a good example for the lost boys," I told him.

"You should tell them not to go."

"Why don't you tell them, Peter?"

"You're our mother. That's what mothers do, they keep their children safe. Isn't that right?"

"It is..."

"Besides, no one ever listens to me anyway," he grumbled.

"You sound just like Father."

"I do not."

"How would you know?"

"He's a grown-up. I will never grow-up."

"Never?" I nearly stopped walking, "How horrid."

"I will be a boy forever, and always have fun."

"You don't look like you're having fun... come on Peter, I thought you weren't afraid of anything."

He looked hurt, "I am NOT afraid."

"Well then come on then, _Father._" I took off running. Finally he laughed.

He put on a funny voice, "Coming Mother!" and flew after me. The trees got narrower. The dew burned off. Finally, we came to a field of sharp grasses growing out of sand. They bit at my ankles like bugs, but I didn't heed them. The little mermaid. The poor soulless creatures. I would soon see them for real.

We reached the top of a hill and came into view of the mermaids' cove. Below us, a steep rocky embankment went down to a bare mud ground. Strong tides had ripped the sand from the shore and left the ribbed muscle of the earth bare to the scorching sun. We padded along the cool dirt to the shore. Great boulders lined it like teeth, and shelled fish and barnacles encrusted the rocks. Behind the boulders, tidepools had formed. The boys cooled themselves in them and splashed each other.

Peter's mood improved when we didn't immediately find mermaids. We searched between rocks, and climbed around the sharp sea creatures to see out further. It was atop one of these that we finally saw them. Slightly nearly knocked Nibs into the sea in his excitement. We waved to them, and they swam in to meet us.

I was disappointed to find that they weren't as handsome as I had imagined. They were fair as any girl I had seen, but I felt my own mother had better charm. Their voices were high and sounded as if they came from a long distance.

"Welcome Peter, welcome strangers," they said, rising to rest on the rock. They clothes shimmered like the surface of the water. They showed off their feminine curves. I scowled.

"I am Wendy Moira Angela Darling," I curtsied. They looked at me with curiosity, then turned back to Peter. He crossed his arms and looked away.

"Peter, you never come visit us any more," said one maiden sadly. Peter didn't say anything. I suddenly realized he had stuffed leaves in his ears. I giggled. The mermaids laughed with me.

"What a silly boy," said another to me. I nodded.

"Don't they remind you of mum?" Michael asked me. I smiled. He sighed, "They are very nice."

"Won't you tell that silly boy to take that out of his ears, we only want to sing you all a song," the third mermaid said, throwing her long shining hair over her other shoulder.

"A song?" exclaimed Toodles.

"Come lost boys, lets sit down and listen," I said.

"Why don't you listen to your mother, Peter," laughed the third mermaid.

"She's such a pretty girl, sit by her and listen," said the second. I stared at Peter. He glared pointedly out to the now amber colored ocean. I frowned, then looked back at the first mermaid. She shrugged. And they began to sing.

It was a very sweet song. And such a pity that Peter would not hear it. It was a song of longing, rolling like a waving and crashing into joyous refrains. I went to stand beside him. He made no sign that he knew I was there. Frustrated, I pinched a leaf between my fingers and plucked the greenery out of one ear.

He raised his hand in anger, but he forgot as the mermaid struck a certain forgiving chord and he too was taken with the music.

And the sky turned red.


	5. At Water's Edge

"Isn't it lovely," I whispered to him. He nodded. The sea breeze kicked up sand from the stone with a hiss. A wave crashed against our rock and the mermaids pulled themselves up to sit beside us. Their harmony was tangible. It made me feel brave and beautiful. I looked up to the painted sky, and out to the waves. There was a ship at sea. It flew no colors. Distracted for a moment, I turned to ask John what kind of ship it was, and noticed something was wrong. One of the mermaids saw my concern and laughed at me.

Out of the water, I could see them fully. The three were barely clad at all and beckoned to my adopted family in a most lewd way, calling them into the sea.

"They've taken Michael!" I shouted. They broke their song. More than a few of the boys looked angry with me.

"Oh, not us!" The mermaid said with false sincerity, laughing shrilly. Slightly jumped to his feet and climbed to the top of the rock for a better view. Peter drew his sword.

"Wendy, boys, take cover!" he spoke as loudly as he dared, "Pirates!" He pointed down the beach, where two shadowy forms held a struggling child. They stood on a rock; a tiered and twisted spire.

"No!" said Slightly, "We will rescue our brother!"

"Have it your way then," said Peter and we ran. We came up from the shore-side. The boys climbed up in, and hid themselves beneath an outcrop. Peter bounded up to the top and stood, just out of sight from the kidnappers. With difficulty, I climbed up as high as I dared. The rock was sharp and pitted. I found a flat point, caked with dried algae. Here, I could hear the pirates discussing.

"This is not Pan," said the first.

"You're right, he's small and weak," agreed the second. Michael whimpered.

"Speak boy, your friends have left. See? Where is your hideout?"

Michael didn't answer for a moment "... in the Forest?"

"You playing games, boy?"

"Please, I don't know," my hands shook with anger as my brother sobbed. There was a third voice, warm, and booming with power.

"Ahoy there you lubbers!"

"Cap'n!" shouted a pirate.

"What are you doing?" asked the voice. I looked around and saw Peter perched atop the rock, grinning.

"We're just interrogating this prisoner, Cap'n!"

Peter made a grand dismissive gesture "Set him free."

"But Cap'n-"

"I want no one but Pan," he commanded. The two whispered to each other. I edged closer to hear, lying flat on my stomach.

"Let's cut off a finger or two first, teach them a lesson," said the first.

"Just let him go," said the second ", I haven't the stomach for that right now."

"Aye aye!" They finally answered and there was a splash, and Michael ran towards the mainland. The boys waved to him, but he was so frighted, he ran straight past us. Then he turned back sharply. The wave had run past, and surrounded us. The rocks were on a rapidly vanishing sandbar. Michael came back to the rock and his brothers pulled him up to us with warmth, ruffling his hair, and wringing out Teddy.

Peter motioned us to be still. There was a splashing sound and a skiff pulled up just yards away. Three more men stepped out. Two were dirty and unkempt, the third was tall and stately. He wore a long coat as red as the sky, and his long ringlets were dark as the shadows that hid us from him. Before he left my view around the rock, I caught a glimpse of his namesake, the thick curved hook a-fixed to his left wrist.

"Ahoy there!" called Captain Hook.

"Ahoy!" responded the two already on the rock.

"Let's leave this cold place," said the second man.

"Where is the boy?" asked their captain.

"Peter?"

"Long gone."

"And the one you captured?" Hook asked in a low rumbling growl.

"Let him go of course!"

"You let him go...?"

"Yup," the man said cheerily. The boys covered their mouths stifle giggles.

"You let him go?!" there was a splash.

"You told us to, Cap'n! You called from across the water!" the second man pleaded.

"I did no such thing! I... spirit that haunts this dark lagoon, dost thou hear me?"

Peter responded, again imitating Hook, a voice several times too large for his small body, "Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs, I hear you..." Peter held up his sword and the boys all drew their weapons.

"Who are you?"

"I am Jas Hook."

"If you are Jas Hook, then who am I?"

"You are... a codfish!" Peter mimicked the high tones of the Captain's fear and his voice cracked.

"A codfish? Enough of this game, show yourself!"

Peter sprang up into the air, "Boys!" and his brothers attacked.

Toodles and Slightly leapt toward the two pirates in the skiff and the others rounded the spire from either side. I saw Michael and John follow, and I called out to stop them.

"Come down, coward!" Hook called to Peter. I finally reached the battleground, and saw the two fighting. The sunset shown through the cape of Hook's cloak and traced Peter's frame in flame. The twins, Nibs and John had the first pirate disarmed, and held at sword-point. Michael held a small knife uselessly at his side and had climbed up the rock a small ways, his eyes were wide.

Steel against steel and iron, the captain used both sword and hook, and Peter countered every blow. Suddenly some one grabbed me. The first pirate stood waist-deep in rushing seawater, pulling me down.

"Peter!" I regretted my call instantly. He looked to me, and Hook sliced with his sword. Peter parried casually, but Hook caught it, and forced it aside, then pulling his blade across his leg in one stroke. Red ribbons burst, beads of blood splash.

A great wave hit the pirate, and I was pulled in after him. I struggled with him, kicking and biting. Then suddenly I found John and Nibs beside me. They yelled. The pirate cried out. The water turned warm with the man's blood and we pulled back to the rock.

Peter had flown up to the next tier and Hook was close behind. Michael and the twins were no where to be seen. I looked around for some rock, or some weapon, but there was nothing.

"Help him!" I turned for Nibs and John, but they had gone to the other side of the rock. Behind me, the Pirate was swimming hard toward the little boat in which his shipmates were rowing away.

Peter tried to fly up, but Hook forced him down, using his great height to his advantage. He fled to the side, but was forced back to the rock wall. Water tugged against my ankles. Peter feined right, met Hooks blade then swung left. The man gave Peter's blow a sharp rap, but the force threw the boy off balance. He cried out as his injured leg gave way and he crumpled. The hook sank in and ripped across his back.

"Tink! Tinkerbell!" he cried. I was frozen.

Hook sheathed his blade and grabbed him by the shoulder like a father. He caressed Peters cheeks with his cold iron hand, and lifted his chin to look him in the eyes.

"The fairies won't save you this time, Pan."

I ran through the tide toward them. I grabbed at Hooks tails.

"Leave him alone!"

He kicked me away ", Not now that you've cast in your lot with their "fairy-killer"." Peter looked at me.

"I am not-"

"Don't be modest, girl," Hook turned back to Peter ", I know what you search for. And now it's right under our fingertips..." he drew his hook back to strike. I lost sight of them as a huge wave crashed over me with a roar. I struggled to right myself as it sought to sweep me away. When I got my neck above water, I saw that it was not the ocean that had roared. It was a crocodile, big as a tree trunk, with teeth like my mother's best kitchen knives. It's eyes were on the pirate. And the captain's were on his. In a flash, he dove into the sea. The croc swam lazily after him, his victory assured. But then the water around Hook stirred, and up came two mermaids. They lifted him and pulled him after his companions.

I saw the white water of another wave, and I climbed up to Peter. He didn't look at me.


	6. The Tide

The sun, and the rock we stood on were both half drowned. Peter's left side was slick with blood down to his knee.

"Wendy, you must leave."

"You're hurt," I reached to him.

"Don't touch me," he cringed and pulled away.

"I can help you."

"Leave me. Fly. Now."

"Fly with me."

"I cannot... it hurts, Wendy..."

"Even if I could take flight now, I'd think of you, here, and I would fall."

"Then swim. The night is cold. Leave now."

"I won't leave you."

He curled in on himself.

"We must move high, Peter."

"This is Marooner's Rock. It will be covered within the hour. It doesn't matter."

"The boys are still out there. We will move higher and maybe they will send help."

He tightened his lips, and pulled himself up. Some how we made it up the rock. I went up first, and lowered my apron to him to use as a handhold. The spray from the waves slapped salt against his wounds. I couldn't tell if it was tears or seawater that streaked his cheeks. The top of the rock was drier. Peter lay on his side, shivering. His light shirt stuck to his back. I saw the shapes of the sheets of muscle layered across his small frame, and the cruel gash that broke through their elegant symmetry. All those beautiful pulleys broken, he'd never swim like that.

I ripped open my pocket ", Let me help you, Peter."

He looked at the needle in my hand.

"Are you afraid."

"You will cut me to pieces..."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, why would you?"

"I don't want to-"

"Why did you do that to Tink?"

"Tink?"

"My fairy..." now his face crumpled. I leaped to his side.

"She was broken. She was dying like the others. I had to put her back together. I didn't do that to her! You know I didn't."

"But Hook knew you."

"Hook doesn't know anything."

"How did he know we were coming here then?"

"Excuse me?"

"You take us to see mermaids, against my wishes, then you force me to listen to their song. You're a spy."

"I didn't-"

"Fairy-killer."

"I promise, Peter, I promise I have nothing to do with it! Please Peter, if I wanted you dead, if I was helping Hook, would I still be here?" He reached for my skirt and balled it in his fists. I pulled him to me, draped him across my lap.

I cut bigger holes around the wounds to see better. I had him hold his own fist to his thigh to stop the flow of blood there, while I tended to the more desperate of the two. I wiped away as much blood as I could with my apron. I pressed it against the opening for a minute, hoping to slow the flow. I watched the sun fade. The apron came away sticky and hurt him as I pulled. I threaded my needle.

I stroked his hair in what I hoped was a comforting way, and began. I leaned in close to see in the fading red light. Veins first, pulling broken ends together, tying them off with thread when they were too ready to let out more blood. I used pins to hold the topmost layer of flesh out of my way. It all glimmered in that last light. It was as if the boy was filled with precious gems, blood red. I willed the tissues to join, pushing tangled sinews back where they belonged. They would go where I designed. They would work as I meant them to. When it got to dark to see I put one hand on the other side of his back, feeling him whole, the way he was created, perfect. With the other hand, my needle. I used a gold thread to lace him together. I felt out the membranes like layers of cloth, tying off between them, pulling them to make sure they moved.

The boy hardly flinched throughout. So when he spoke, I jumped.

"Wendy, the sea is coming."

I didn't say anything. Just the skin remained. I laced him up before he could think to say anything else.

"I can swim. I will carry you," I said.

"No," he stubbornly, rolling off me and trying to stand. His balance was poor.

"I didn't fix you up, just so that I could leave you," I said.

"It will be an adventure. The boys haven't come for us. You must go find them."

"Dying is not an adventure. Come here." I went to him. I wrapped the stained remains of my apron and tied it around his leg tightly.

"The water is cold, it will numb you. Mothers don't leave," adrenaline pumped through me, I was prepared to take him by force now.  
But he sat on the edge of the rock with me. I lowered myself into the water, and he wrapped his arms around my neck. When I began to swim however, he was too heavy for me. He could not make headway against the waves without me. We returned to the rock.

"Silly boy," I said, nearly crying ", Are you frightened now?"

"No. Wendy, you tried. You're a good mother, but you must save yourself. Here," he held out his hand, "you should have your kiss back."

I reached out to his hand, and felt my thimble, and the stitches from our first meeting. I stopped. Then pulled his hand to me, grabbing my little scissors.

"What are you doing?"

I snipped through a tiny knot and with a snap, his shadow pulled free from him, disappearing into the night.

"Now I shall never find him again," he said sadly.

"Come on!" I pulled him into the water. Without his shadow, he weighed nothing at all.


	7. Daybreak

The tide flowed in many directions at once, and the faint echo of light did little to guide my direction. Every stroke forward was countered by the swell of the riptide. Whitewater came from our backs and pushed my head under the surface. I was nearly dashed against the rocks that edged the lagoon, but we found a small tree growing in the cracks. It's branches helped us to safety. Out of the water, the wind touched our skin with ice. I lifted Peter onto my shoulders as easily as one might put on a scarf.

I started running to keep warm. There had to be some shelter somewhere. The grass whipped at my cold ankles. Peter lifted his arms to the sky and crowed. Joy. Triumph. I felt my spirits lift. We had conquered it.

After a time, the wind from the sea broke off. I found a gentle valley between the dunes, and lay Peter in the curve of its palm. I collapsed next to him, out of breath. He rolled over, favoring the bad side. I closed my eyes. He slept almost immediately. The hushed sound of the wind and sea masked his breathing. Every time I shut my eyes, I felt he had gone. I reached out through the chill air, and found his hand. I dreamt that night I was a mermaid, rising to the surface for the very first time to see first light of day.

I woke thinking I heard the sound of church bells in the distance. For a moment, I thought I was home. I opened my eyes.

A cold gray light lit my companion's sleeping body. With no shadow, he seemed to glow from inside. His dark lashes were flecked with sand and salt crystals. His shirt was nearly torn from his shoulders. The sea had cleansed his skin of most of the blood; dried, ruddy streaks remained here and there. It remained beneath both of our nails. His fragile life on my fingertips. He seemed so small and still. I rested the back of my fingers on his forehead, barely brushing the skin. I traced the architecture of his face. The soft hairs of his brow, down the soft plane of the temple, around the sweeping line of his cheekbone, the smooth valley where age might have graced his smile, his lips... one doesn't touch a boy's lips. Boys don't let you touch their lips. I put two fingers against them.

The cold wind blew. I shivered and hid my hands in my sea-starched skirt. Then his eyes blinked open. I stared.

"What?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing."

Peter made a face and sat up. He started to untie my apron.

"Don't do that!" I tried to stop him, but he slapped my hand away with a grin.

"I want to see," he said, and pulled the apron away, handing it to me. I freed my sewing kit from its pocket. His eyes teared as bright blood welled up, but he was intrigued and demanded that I sew it up for him so he could watch.

"I suppose you can't fly without some kind of job on it..." I said slowly.

"I can fly," he boasted, "I just won't until you fix it."

"Let me check your back first," I said. I ran my fingers around the sides of the long row of overcast stitches. I looked at it pridefully; my biggest project yet. And so little swelling. I returned to his leg. Peter had already picked out one of the four spools of thread I had brought. A green. I told him it would show up against his skin, and he agreed. He wanted to show it off to the lost boys. Peter gritted his teeth and watched intently as I ran my needle through him.

"See Peter, you wrap the gap in skin like a rope around a tree: in this side, out the other, in this side, out the other," I felt the wound slipping to one side, I smiled ", Would you like to hold this for me?" He nodded. I moved his hands where I wanted them. I tied off. He stood.

"You be careful with that one. It's better if muscle does itself, so I didn't touch it. Don't put too much weight on it."

He grinned and leapt in the air, "I won't put any weight on it all then, Doctor."

I laughed and grabbing his hand, flew off above the morning haze.

"Now we will go back and tell the lost boys of our adventure!"

The clouds burst open to daylight. We flew like swallows, darting through the sky, looping. We reached the hideout much faster than I expected. We floated down through a mist that permeated the forest. Below the canopy, I couldn't see farther than two or three trees. Peter found the secret entrance intuitively, in spite of the low visibility. Inside was empty.

"We must have beat them home!" He said happily. He drifted around the room. I started a fire for us. I started getting nervous around midday.

"They'll come," he reassured me.

"What if they went home?"

"Home?"

"What if Michael and John got frightened and flew away?"

"They would leave without you?"

"They might have thought I would follow... or..."

"What?"

"That I was already dead."

Peter laughed. I frowned, "Don't laugh."

"Silly girl. They could not leave a sister like you."

"Then what?"

He thought about this, sinking slowly onto a bed. He lay back. After a time I realized he had forgotten about me. I got up and started sorting through the piles of objects on the floor.

"They probably just stopped for lunch," he said finally.

I found something of use. A belt, with a small satchel on it.

"Whose is this?" I asked. Peter shrugged, so I put it on and put my sewing kit inside. "Do you have a spare sword?"

"A sword?"

"I'm obviously not properly prepared for this kind of adventure."

Peter nodded vigorously, and flew about the room, throwing piles of thing around until he found what he was looking for. He presented it to me.

"It's... rather small," I said.

"It's not a sword, it's a dagger. Hide it under your skirt, Wendy-"

"Peter!"

"What?"

"That's immodest."

"It's what?"

"Fine, just turn around for a moment."

"Why?"

"Just do it," I blushed. He put his hands up in defeat, and covered his face with a pillow. "And don't peek!"

"Why would I do that? I know what legs look like!"

I lifted my skirt and strapped the knife to my thigh with a scrap of leather. I felt braver with my new adventuring gear. We ate our soup, laughed and joked. I couldn't wait to tell the boys everything. We had just emptied our bowls, when we heard the ringing of bells. Down from the chimney came Tinkerbell.

Her light was brighter now, and slightly rose colored. She landed on the table with sure feet, and hands on hips. Her satin arm looked almost flesh-like, and down her stomach, thread seemed to be growing out of her, not holding her together. I marveled. I looked to Peter, he was overjoyed to see her, but as she began speaking, his smile dropped.

"She says pirates have captured the lost boys."


	8. The Jolly Roger

"We will go rescue them," said Peter immediately.

Tink nodded curtly, but before we could rise, she held out a hand. The two played out a small musical number in chatter, not stopping to translate for my sake.

"Of course it's a trap. It's always a trap, "Peter said impatiently "Pirates are treacherous... Your sorry for what?... Nevermind that... No... Then I'll go alone... No... Tink! She's my... mother..."

I crossed my arms at this.

"What? That is what she wishes to be-"

Tink laughed and looked sadly at him.

He balled his fists in frustration, "Well I won't let her go. It's my fate. Hook and me..." Tink shook her head "She cannot fight!"

"What is she saying?" I asked.

"She says it's a trap-"

"Yes."

"And you must go with me."

"Why wouldn't I go with you?"

"You are a lady."

"Peter, if I am your Mother, you will do as I say. If Tink says we must save the boys together, that's what we must do," I looked to Tink, she nodded, worrying the threads on her arm. "Don't worry, Tink. We'll rescue them." She nodded again, with a careful smile.

Peter's lips were tight, "I don't want you to go."

"They are my brothers!"

"Why don't you listen to me; just look what happened with the Mermaids!"

"You'd be dead without me-"

"-I would not have been there had it not been for you," he flew to the door, Tinkerbell threw herself across the room after him, waving her hands.

He stopped, "How do you know this?"

Tink clasped her hands together.

"Come on, Wendy-"

"What did she say?"

Tattered fabric ripped as he whipped around to face me. He was high as the ceiling, shoulders squared off to attack, but smiling.

"They think they can corner me with their wicked tricks? They think they can corner Peter Pan?" He grinned. I hopped up into the air.

"Let us fly, Wendy."

The three of us escaped the chill fog of the forest in moments. The fairy darted quick like the blue bottle flies that plagued summer streets back home. The boy moved with the grace of a dancer, by the force of his pride. Chest forward, fingers spread wide to strain clouds from wind. I was a hapless leaf in an eddy by comparison.

The wind was pins and needles, pushing us away from the sea, and the clouds below us rolled. I felt a hole growing in the pit of my stomach as I saw those sails grow on the horizon. I could not slow, so I imagined the tips of my toes drawing a running-stitch through the atmosphere. It was enough to keep my nerves from failing. We passed the edge of the forest. Marooner's Rock. Out of the lagoon to open water. We stopped here. The ship lay below us, a child's toy on a velvet blanket among scraps of gray cotton.

I caught my breath "Have you a plan?"

Peter nodded, "They will expect me to come from above. They will have the boys below, and they will expect me to go straight for the hatch. Likely, they have nets-"

"Or guns," I added.

"They have no ammunition. No guns. But arrows." I felt pleased with myself. He continued, "so I will come from the back of the ship. I will break the windows in the captain's quarters and enter there. I will finish Hook and leave the crew in disarray."

"Then?"

"Then? I fight!"

"The two of us? Against all of them?"

He shrugged, "The crew isn't much without Hook. We used to have a merry time skirmishing before the Captain."

I thought for a moment. I took the scissors from my kit, and snipped a slit in my skirt to reach my little knife.

"Alright," I said.

"Wendy, tail me closely, but do not board until I say so. They want us alive. Tink doesn't know why, but they will not kill me, understand? You wait until I say so," he searched my eyes. His palm held out, unwavering, staying my heart.

We flew down a ways from the ship, tracing the surface of the water. Out of reach of any mermaids, I hoped. The hull of the ship was great and crashed against the sea. The wood was dark as the trees of the rainforest, and the knots twisted like the gauzy specters in kerosene. Mist was perpetually thrown up around the ship, our clothes were quickly soaked again. Peter flew up to the window, and I stayed behind. The day was still bright. I glanced up to the deck nervously, to check that no one could see me.

I heard the window break, then, a moment of silence. The deafening quiet of an open mouthed inhale from the ocean itself. There was a shout. Adrenaline shot through my chest, but it was not Peter. Men's yells, then Hook's voice. My lungs seemed to small suddenly. I couldn't hear what he was saying. I felt myself sinking with the dread. I sprang up to the window, and hopped inside. I could not have stayed afloat much longer. And where was Tink?

There was a stillness again. I held my small hands out in front of me. They shook violently. I moved each finger, meditating on the tough ribbons in my wrists as they rippled, until my bones were still.

"Tell me boy..."

I could hear Hook from the deck, the pirates shuffling about, chains. The door was ajar. I crept closer.

"He means nothing to me. He is not a Lost Boy," Peter's voice. My brother, they had my brother.

"In that case, perhaps I'll remind you what my hook feels like against your ribs."

Peter said nothing. I heard Micheal's whimper, hushed by some man.

"Call her."

"Wendy?" Peter called. I hesitated. Louder. "Wendy?"

"Yes?" I stepped out of the door. More bravely than I felt I think. There was a ring of seamen around me. Micheal was held in chains before me, blade to his throat. I looked him up and down for injury before I looked at Hook.

"You will unhand my brother, as well as these boys," I said, I raised my chin to look him in the eye. Cold blue eyes. Thick lidded with thick lashes, he lined them vainly with kohl. He held Peter against him tightly, hand on shoulder, hook against his stomach.

"Gladly," he purred, he beckoned to one of his men, who brought forward another pair of shackles. Peter had his hands in fists, and lifted his feet from the ground, but could do nothing with a sword to Micheal's neck.

"Step into my quarters, we will negotiate the terms of their release."

A flood of thoughts entered my mind. The pirates began taking Peter and Micheal toward the hatch. I swept the thoughts aside with a raise of my hand, "The terms are, you let them go, and I tell my fairy not to light the explosives at the prow of your pretty ship."

Hook's cape swirled, he turned to me. For a moment I hoped. He lifted his good hand, and a man came forward with a lantern. Inside, rose red, and pounding the glass in anger, Tinkerbell. If I had been flying, I'd have crashed into the sea. The captain took me by the arm.

"Come now, I think you'll see we both want the same thing here." He led me into his room.


	9. A Dark Cabin

Two men followed in the room with sinister weapons. Hook saw me eye them, and waved them out.

"Not you two again. Leave us!" The first man left sullenly, disappointed I think.

"But Cap'n!" I recognized the catch in the voice as the second man from the beach. An elderly man whose head was too small for the tricorn hat he wore.

Hook walked behind a large heavy desk, polished bright and pitted from the claw, "This is a private discussion among professionals, no place for a ruffian like you," The Captain removed his hat and coat and hung them on a hook.

"Aye, Cap'n," The second man left.

I was seated in a chair in front of the desk. Large, for foreign dignitaries, not small girls. A sharp-smelling breeze came in through the broken window. I considered it as means for escape. The Captain sat down opposite me, hand and hook folded on the desk.

"Now Wendy..."

"Miss Darling if you please."

He paused, thin lips parted, "Miss Wendy... Darling," he smiled, "I propose a trade."

"I am sorry: I have only this one spool of thread left, and this gown I wear."

"You offer your gown?" He laughed heartily and kindly ignored the immodest implication, "It is a beautiful red, but I don't think it will fit me."

I looked at the dip-dyed carnage that was once blue. I met his gaze. He was a crafty rogue under all his finery. I spoke slowly.

"Captain Hook, I offer only the goods I have, and the services I may provide as a good and moral lady."

"Good because I require your services. I propose that you and I work together. With three good hands, and the knowledge we share, we can finally conquer it-" he stood-

"What is to our goal, Pirate?"

"His heart. They say it is in his heart."

"What?"

"Immortality. Within the boy's body, the mechanism of life itself is hidden. Eternal youth. All the years we've spent, Wendy, trying to find it in fairies..." he shook his head, curls like flowing oil. He looked to the sky, tapped his chest softly "And it's been here. It's been him this whole time!"

"Peter."

"Of course."

"He will not grow old?"

He studied me, looking down the curve of his nose, "Is that not why you're here? The fairy told me of your experiments, your brother told me of your skill... " He saw my concerned expression and came to kneel beside me. His sudden familiarity was strange. I did not look at him. "Poor girl, far from home. I imagined a far more devious opponent. But we needn't be opponents..." I looked at him, thinking of my knife, "Nor allies," he lifted a salt-dried hand, "Colleagues. I will share my knowledge in the art of medicine, my knife, my experience; and you will share your two good hands, your needle, your sharp young eyes. Together, we can exhume from the boy the answer. The answer that will save everyone. Forever."

"You wish to... take him apart."

"I need a biopsy to identify the anomalies in his anatomy."

"Why do you not use one of your ruffians if you need an assistant to your unnatural surgeries?" I crossed my arms.

"Because what we do, Wendy... look at me... what you do is an art. The feeling... to brush skin with the untouchable machines of God that pump and breath life into us, inside us... they would not understand that," he waved at the door with disgust, "They would only smell death, even with still living bodies. They would not see the beauty in the little form," he cups his hand around some small creature, "The duality, the body broken and wasted in one moment, and whole, perfect in another. And the stretch of time in between is a ritual," he let the creature fall to the floor, "The intimacy between the lost... and the savior."

I pressed my palms to my thighs, I could feel my heart in my fingertips. I imagined the boy's soft back. Inside, some secret... some magnificent system that defeated time. It was there, I could cut it from him. And he could grow.

The Captain stood finally, sighing, "I see. This is about the boy."

I pictured pressing a knife to his chest, and my body rebelled at the notion.

"If this were another, you would do this. For your brothers. You do this for me, and you and your brothers can go home."

"And what of Peter?"

He thought about this, "I cannot assure that he will live, but you seem to be quite clever at needlework. His chances may be better with you." He held up his hook in a way I did not think was meant to threaten, but frightened me nonetheless. I tried to regain my composure.

"He is not an animal," I said, "We cannot risk his life without his permission."

He tapped his iron hand against the desk, "Maybe you can't, Miss Wendy. I will do so, for the good of humanity, whether or not he agrees. He is a child and he does not understand."

"I am no older, and I understand."

He took a slow breathe, "I will speak to him. He will agree to it. And he will sign a paper to it. You have my word."

"You cannot force him to sign," I stood.

"He will sign, of his own free will. He will understand that his sacrifice will save us all, and do so gladly," He smiled. I knew what he said was true. Whether he understood death I did not know, but I knew he would give his life for me and his brothers.

"The lost boys, what of them?"

"I will release them with you. I have no need of them now. There are no secrets to be found within them."

I suddenly remembered Slightly's necklace and felt a bit odd. I reached for the chair and looked up at the captain. My bruise-red dress brushed my shins in the soft breeze. I could imagine the hook at my own throat now. I could almost feel my own instruments cutting into my belly. Hook's instruments. The sweet perfume of my blood, Peter's blood, of some nameless boys whose teeth now hung at their friend's neck. I stood up straight, like Mother, and put my hands on my hips.

"I cannot accept this offer, Captain Hook. I decline."

"You decline?"

"I will not bargain with a pirate."

"You decline." He swept towards me, standing so close I nearly bent myself backward meeting his eyes.

"I do."

I saw his hooked arm tense, but he spoke steady, "You have a strong character, girl. But you're being foolish. I will give you a chance to reconsider."

He guided me from the room in a civilized manner. He brought me to small, dark room. There were no windows, no bed clothes to speak of, just a single lantern in the corner. Hook left without a word. I heard the door lock behind him, with a soft jingle of keys. No, not keys. I turned, "Tink!" I exclaimed quietly.

She rang a soft greeting and motioned me close. She held her hand to her ear. I understood. I told her everything. She shook her head sadly.

"You know I'm no ghoul, don't you Tink?"

She did.

"I am sorry I hurt you. And..." I choked, "I am sorry I killed your friends."

She stroked the glass and smiled.

"Thank you, Tink."

I tried to release her from the lantern, but a small lock was affixed to the clasp. I thought of smashing the glass, but so far I had been treated with relative respect, and I didn't want to strain that relationship. I explained this to her and she nodded. She motioned for me to listen. Then she blew from her lips, a sphere of fairy dust. She tapped the lantern, then mimed opening a smaller version, taking something out, exchanging it with the dust. I smiled. She brushed the brightness from her hands.

"Yes, I will find a candle so they cannot see that you have left."

She did a tiny somersault in joy.

We could not sleep that night. Not for many hours. We told each other stories, in whispers, and in dances. I told her how I had found Peter and his shadow. She showed me how she had found him as a small babe. How she and her sisters cared for him. There were other boys too, but Peter was the first. And they had many adventures together.

I told her how my mother had taught me to use a needle and thread. She hoped I would embroider, but I was more interest in repairing holes. I told her how I secretly began darning the holes in dead animals from the street. How I had found the first dead fairy. Then one that was not dead. I shared with her my tragic attempts to mend them, and finally her own arrival. I had such hope when I found her. Though her arm was nearly gone to dust, dissolving to nothing, her body seemed sound. Inside, I transplanted organs from nearly every dead fairy I had under my bed. But when I found her, she seemed whole.

She beckoned to me. Closer. Closer. Then I heard.

_I live because you believed in me. _That_ is the secret. Here, we are what we believe._


	10. The Secret

I did not find it odd at the time that I could understand. I was so embedded in the deep magic of that world, it did not seem such a wonder.

"If that is true, how can I not believe the boys to safety?"

_Can you?_ She crossed her arms, teasing.

"I cannot."

_Just so._

I had only been speaking out of frustration, but now I gave more thought, "If I could make myself believe Hook is dying of some horrible consuming disease..."

_He would know it was not true. You cannot make him something he is not._

"And what if I believed Peter did not hold this secret that Hook desires?"

_Does it matter whether or not he does? Jas believes he has it, so there it is._

"That's not fair," I sat on the floor and crossed my arms, "How come Hook can change Peter, but I neither of them?"

_Peter is indeed a boy forever, and Jas still desires that. Between the two, our current predicament is unchanged, whatever you chose to believe of them._

"Why does Hook think he can harvest this from his heart? Surely it only pumps blood as any other."

Tink looked down. _Whether the secret can be found in his flesh, I do not know. If it does not... our predicament may be even more grave._

I lay on the floor, "There must be a solution to this."

The fairy rang cheery comforting bells, _Sweet girl. I know you find a way for my dear boys. I am sorry._

I did not ask her what for. I thought of my brothers. Locked away somewhere. Little Michael hugging his bear, pressed tight to John, who would be acting hero. I knew he would be thinking of escape now, creating stories, grand plots... Logic, he would say. The scientific methods are orderly, and will solve any problem.

I could not take Hook's offer. I had seen his hatred and cruelty, and he would not stop at the heart. Hook held so much over me now, though. I could I refuse? I was only a pawn. Only one line of attack, and the only escape was to sacrifice a piece I would not lose. The black heart blood red pieces pressed toward me. The lost boys, my brothers; if I moved in a way Hook did not approve of, they would be taken. One by one, knocked to the wood floor. So long as they were hostages, I could make no move. Tinkerbell. She too would be used to leverage me. I could not bear to watch her die again. My own life. I would be spared, but only under the protection of Hooks estimation of my use. Peter would live, at least, as long as the pirate felt he needed his heart.

Each would have to be saved in order to break from this trap. I tapped my fingers wishing the boys were with me. They would know what this ship was called, and where the prisoners were kept. But the idea was meaningless. The hour was late and my head was tight. I needed to find a candle to exchange with Tink. It would provide a ruse for only a limited time, but it might be enough to find help. I lifted my heavy lids high enough to let the Tink's light catch my lashes. I would exchange her for a candle. The pirates would believe it to be her. I wondered if the candle might even become some wax-skinned doppelganger of the fairy, by this misplaced belief. Or perhaps the candle was aware that it was not a fairy.

The lantern's shadow swung in arcs across the wall. As sleep's sand touched my dry eyes, I began hatching a plan.

I felt I was sinking through the wood floor. As it wrapped around me, a bright spark formed in my chest and grew. The wind through my window at home. The broken window. If I could not fly for fear, then I would refuse fear. The spark rumbled. A hook at my throat, and the knife at my side. My fathers voice. The cracked lines that aged his face. Peter's silhouette set against harsh noon sun. And the spark was the sun itself. Blinding.

I woke in darkness again. I heard the tinkling of a tiny yawn. I went to her, and explained my goals in a hushed tone. She corrected some finer points, and approved them. After some time, some one finally came to our door. It was the older, second man.

"G'mornin' little girl. I am sorry about the bed here," he gestured to the floor where I slept.

"That's quite alright, good sir. I expect I am to be taken to the captain?" I straightened my skirt and re-tied my vest.

"That's right." He took me back out to the deck. The morning was still cold and gray. It was a damp day. The deck was slick. The droplets in the air were so small it was more cloud than rain. We re-entered the captain's quarters. The broken window was closed with wood and sail cloth.

Hook was at his desk, twiddling a curl between two fingers. A plate of food sat in front of him, untouched. Another was at my place. He motioned to it, face expressionless. We ate in silence for a time. I could feel him considering his moves. Knowing it was my turn. I took my time, politely finishing breakfast. Business at breakfast is bad form, after all. Finally, I folded my napkin neatly and looked to him. He stared for a second, then drew his chair up closer.

"Have you reconsidered my offer?"

"I have."

He was taken aback, "You have?"

"The boy is an enigma. I'd like to see what he's made of," I used words from my father. I was not a helpless seamstress now. Nor grieving sister, or mother. I was now I was a cold, calculating businessman. People would do as I said.

Hook smiled.

"Am I to understand you have a room ready for our work?"

His smiled widened, "I do."

"Far better than the little space in the attic I used at home, I'm sure."

He laughed, "I'm sure. Come, Miss Darling."


	11. Candles and Knives

He lead me below to a room with a heavy table, draped in red cloth. This time, he did not dismiss his two guards. Cabinets lined the walls, locked and barred iron, filled with unfamiliar equipment. Each steel instrument sliced through the light of four lanterns, parting the beams and throwing splashes of warmth on the walls. The room glowed with its purpose.

"Don't be shy," he held out his hand, ushering me in.

I toured display, my nose pressed to the window like a child at a pastry shop. Saws and knives of every shape. Given the right one, I might cut materials of any thickness or elasticity clean. Their elegance and quick edges made me itch to hold them.

"That one," he said pointing to a long thin knife, "Will bend to reach the tendons within knuckles." He turned me to a heavy mahogany handled saw, "That one takes cores from the skull. This," he pointed to a snub-nosed knife with a handle like a crocodile's tail, "will cut through the boy's sternum."

"What is that?"

He unfurled a large map and laid it on the table. It was a map of a boy. The particular curve of the shoulders was uncomfortably familiar. The Captain tapped the center of the chest, where the ribs met.

"The quickest way to the heart. We cut here, then," he made a sweeping gesture, "Just... open the cage."

I felt my discomfort as tightness in my stomach. I lifted the paper, and held it close to my nose.

"It seems awfully dim in here, Captain. Might I request a box of candles for our experiment?"

"Anything," Hook sent one guard away to fulfill my request.

The candles arrived with holders and matches. I hurried to light them, and placed them myself. I palmed a match, but had to wait for the candle. This was another Hook I was seeing. I was watching a large and dangerous hound enjoy his supper, wagging his tail. I could not assume his good mood would continue.

I stalled, feeding his ego, as well as sating my own curiosity.

I spoke without thinking, "It would be nice to see these thing at full size... and living..."

"You will..."

I brushed the picture of one of two near identical organs. I knew them by form, though not by name. Though fairies were human-esk, most of my studies had been spent on the odd bird, or cat found outside on the street.

"Kidneys." He said.

"Do they have names?"

He held up hand, then hook, "Right and left. Or perhaps left and right if you are the carrier." He pointed to a larger plateau of flesh set to one side of the intestines (this I knew from my father's complaints at dinner), "The liver," he said fondly.

I wrinkled my nose, "Liver always feels of oil and sand. I prefer kidneys. They're like two sweet puppies on a leash."

As the candles shrank, he gave names to everything I asked of, and told of the ailments they would cause if they were missing. I had only thought of the body as a pattern to be replicated, it's true complexity went quite beyond my understanding. Little wonder I had no success with the dying animals of the street. It was only fairy magic that allowed a simple girl like me any measure of control over death. I fell into the game of pretend now, with a sick excitement. I was a poor young student of cutting and slicing, desperate for the powerful knowledge offered. Lovesick for the feel of flesh in my hands. My espionage demanded it, and I was too happy to play the role.

The candles were only stumps when I looked up again. It had been my intention, but I was cutting it a bit close. I sent a guard to fetch me a pen and paper. The older man was left. I waited until Hook was distracted, then let the little box of full candles fall to the floor. I gasped and turned to the old man.

Hook scowled, "Pick those up, Smee."

Smee started to protest, but sputtered out in fear of his captain. When his head disappeared under the table, and Hook's into the papers, I snuffed a candle with my fingers.

"Oh dear! Mr. Smee, hand me one of those candles, would you?" He did. I replace the stub of a candle and ducked under the table as if to give it to the pirate, but instead put it in my sewing bag with the match. I returned to Hook too quickly, showing my nerves.

"Anxious to begin, Miss Darling?"

"I should like to, but I fear the practice I've had has been of an exclusively magical nature. And of a smaller scale. What if I were unable to recognize the magic we search for as something of interest?"

The Captain tapped his hook on the table, "I found nothing of interest in the fairies I studied. Even comparisons between those made mortal, and those still immortal revealed nothing."

"You studied the sickness as well?"

"Oh, there is no sickness!" He laughed, "I only suggested that to the silly creatures before I captured them. No, creatures here, fairies, boys even- all can be made mortal given the right conditions."

"A sickness is a set of conditions."

He pondered this and stroked the curve of his hook with his thumb, "Yes... a sickness. We are all sick."

"Broken..."

"Yes. No, Miss Wendy. I fear I am responsible for breaking the fairies."

I was not particularly surprised.

"I thought," he continued, "If I could change them; the fairies, the boys; the way I myself was changed, I might find the commonality. But there was nothing. Just... fear," he turned from me, facing the walls of knives, "A great and powerful fear. Tell me, how did you fix that fairy? What did you find?"

"I found holes. I just filled them," I said honestly. I could not think of a better answer. If I had had the words, I might have bluffed that I had found his cure, but my mind went blank, "Please," I blurted, "Why Peter?"

His cold eyes met mine, "What has he told you of himself?"

"Very little," I folded my hands.

"He is only barely human. Something besides the blood in him sustains him. He cannot fear, he cannot love. He is a point in time, never changing, never growing."

"It sound awful..."

"Does he seem sad to you? No, this is the soft and painless life humanity has been denied. He carries it. And his fairy told me he carries it in his heart."

Tinkerbell told him. What had he done to her? Little wonder she had been so hurt when I found her. Some kind of heat filled my limbs and re-doubled my resolve.

"I wish to retreat to my cabin to study these diagrams before we begin, if you please."

"May I offer my own quarters?" I avoided his cold eyes. I could not see if this was suspicion or some strange kindness.

"Though brighter, our entrance made your room rather drafty. I am sorry for that. I must insist on the quiet of the room you provided."

He swept to the door, "Then I will order a desk brought down for your studies, Miss Darling. And when you are finished, we can begin."

"Not before supper I pray!" I protested.

His face grew dark, "Not before supper?" he turned back to me, and softened, "No I suppose not. Long and happy hours are ahead of us. We'll want to work on a full stomach."


	12. Messages

In the small cabin, they brought me papers, pens, a desk and chair. I let Smee close the door after me.

I flew to the fairy, "Oh Tink, what did Hook do to you?" I took the lantern from the wall and held it in front of my face. She didn't answer, "Come on then, let's revenge ourselves on these awful men." I set the lantern on its side and used the side of my knife to pry out a pane of glass. In case some one were to enter, I set the lantern beside me, and she remained inside. I arranged the diagrams and papers in front of me, and readied my pen. I'd prayed my meaning would be clear.

_Dearest brothers,_ I wrote, _I have arranged for your release. I know that you are brave. __Micheal, if the boys b__egin to lose hope, tell them to only believe this: we still have our lives, and there is yet hope. When shadows fall; fear not sky, nor earth._ _John, you must care for the moral of boys. I leave this to you. _Dawn will come on our little home again. I know you will understand. For the good of the many I do this.  


_With love, Wendy_

It was terrible. I could not speak to the rest of the boys, but I did not want to cast any more shadows on my message. I could not make it clearer, but I still felt it foggy. The fairy touched my arm, _I will make sure they see me, they will understand._

"Be careful."

I could not immediately leave the room, though every drop of perspiration demanded that I run. I had said I needed to study. I flipped the papers idly back and forth. My eyes would not focus.

The boy's name was on my tongue, a guilty and nauseous taste, and my brother's lives in my heart. The raw force of nerves made the little fairy shiver, trails of dust falling from her wingtips. I held out my hand and she leaned against my thumb. Our two pulses beat together. Quietly terrified. We sat in silence until I could bear it no longer. I rehung the lantern, lit candle inside. Tink hid beneath my skirt as I summoned the old man to the door. I greeted him with a sweeping curtsy.

"Good evening, Smee."

"And a very good evenin' to you too, ma'am," he was nearly blushing at the attention.

"Please, would you be so kind as to pass on this simple message of comfort to my brothers? I do not know where they are... I promised my Mother I would not leave them... that is the only reason they are here..." I did not need to play act at my grief. The pirate had a soft heart, and agreed to take the letter to them, but only after he had read it himself.

"I'm no common pirate, mind ye," he said with pride, "I was schooled and all."

He was teary eyed at my letter, and I congratulated myself as we walked up the long splintered staircase.

"I do hope our surgery is successful," I said.

"Aye," said the pirate without feeling.

"If he does not survive, the terrible magic that gives him immortality would be unleashed in vengeful fury. That would be awful."

"Aye," said the pirate with his hand on his sword.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I think the Captain did not want you all to know that. He wouldn't like a skittish crew, my apologies. You won't pass that on, will you, Mr. Smee?"

"Of course not," he said, but I could see he was unnerved. That seed was planted. I felt Tink brush my ankles as she flew away from me. I could only pray she returned in time.

The Captain and I dined in his quarters. I forced myself to eat plenty and be merry, though my chest was full of the pricking of angry pins, and my stomach of cotton. The man hardly sat through the meal. He held his glass high and recounted daring tales of his youth. There was some forest where he once played. Battles he once fought. Many adventures he had. All this he would have again, he vowed. I gave as strong a cheer as I could muster, encouraging him on. Any time wasted was good time for me.

His raving turned to anger. The wrongs that had been done to him. Some beautiful woman, she would be so jealous of his success. He had given everything for her, ingrate. Now she would be left cold, not he. Those brothers, how they had taunted him. Wait until they see what life he had. That awful boy. How he had underestimated Hook. Empty-headed and dull-witted boy. Couldn't see, everything they ever wanted was right there for the taking.

"I will plunge my hook into his sun-streaked belly and give him a wound he will not forget so easily!"

He headed for the door.

I stood suddenly, "You must first show me his signature. You promised."

He sneered, and pulled a page from his pocket. I read it aloud, "I Peter Pan of Neverland do give my body in the name of scientific and medical advancement. I understand the risks involved, which include serious injury and... death... He signed only "X", can the boy read?"

"Who would have taught him?" He took the paper from me and stuffed it in his pocket. He reached the door again.

"No!" I stepped toward him. He stopped. "I cannot allow you to continue on an unwilling subject."

"Did all the fairies sign waivers for your most prestigious facility? I thought not," he grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the rain. The western sky was a deep burnt umber, late afternoon sun filtered through unrelenting gray. The boat rocked, and puddles flowed over the hatch in small stream down the stairs. The breeze was chilled by the cold water over which is passed, but the air was thick and warm. It draped over the ship in solemnity.

Hook's boots beat down the stairs. His long legs carried him faster than I could walk. He kept the keys to the knife room under his shirt, on a large ring.

Inside, a form already lay on the table. I crept forward. The shaking of the shadows. I could not see if he was yet awake. His skin was strange and otherworldly, gathering all the light and withholding none. Even cruelly strapped to the table, he seemed ungrounded. I could easily believe what Hook said, that he was not all human.

There was no guard. Hook barred the door behind us. I set about arranging the candles again. I kept an eye on Peter. His eyes were closed, but he seemed in some kind of dream. He was not still. A spark caught my eye. The shine of my thimble in the candlelight, fallen from his belt. When Hook turned from me, I took Peter's cool hand and slipped it on his finger. I gave his palm a gentle squeeze and felt his pulse quicken. He was still here.

I took my time laying out the few instruments I had. Hook had provided a small surface for each of us. His had blades of several sizes, including the crocodile blade he had shown me. My needles and thread looked like play things. A small offering for such an endeavor. Finally, there was no preparation left. I looked to the door, listening for some sign of the boys, Tinkerbell. There was nothing but the roar of the ocean and the clatter of knives.


	13. Little Bird

My needles were threaded. The candles were lit. The knife strapped to my side felt hot. Hooks fingers closed on some metal, I looked for something to overturn, anything to postpone this moment. Not this moment. Time stalled.

"Miss Darling," he was at my side. He had thrown his coat to the wall, and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. I could see twisted, scarred skin, snaking under straps and cap of his prosthesis. The leather was stained dark, the rivets caked in blood-rust. He held the flat of the blade against Peter's chest. I was out of time. I pulled out my knife in one hand, and grabbed his hook in the other. I sliced at his throat. He was faster, batting my arm away with the pen knife. I cried out and my weapon flew across the room.

"I was wondering when you were going to try that." He wiped my blood on his shirt. My left forearm burned. "I'd say you waited a bit long. Next time strike when your opponent is unarmed."

I backed away from him in fear, waiting for the bite of his knife.

"You're not much of a killer, though... are you?" he asked, "More of a doll-maker... rather macabre choice of materials for a little girl, I must say."

"I could be a killer if I wanted to. I'd kill you," I said, "You horrible monster," I glanced at Peter, so still and small.

"Oh..." Hook smiled, "I see how it is. You have _feelings_ for the boy. He can't change, girl. He won't! He cannot love you!"

"You're wrong. I know he does because-"

"Oh yes, yes, that is all very touching. Alright, how about this, little Wendy: new deal..." He took my knife off the floor, "You do as I say, and I don't kill him when I'm finished." He saw me eying the crocodile knife, "You don't do as I say, and I start doing a bit of..." he stroked Peter's small hand with the spine of my knife, "Pruning."

The game of chess was over. Queen, pinned to King, a stalemate was the best I could hope for at Hook's whims, "What would you have me do?"

Hook stared at Peter with loathing, "Miss Wendy, would you care to make the first incision?" He held the small knife out to me and a second an inch above Peter's hand, "Say yes." He dragged out the word in a hiss.

I knew what he asked. A long cut down the center, big enough to pull aside the muscles. If I did it myself, I could keep it clean and repairable. Hope welled up. And I'd have a knife in hand again. Maybe I had one more play for our lives. I took the knife from Hook, and held it above Peter. His skin was tea and cream, flushed with the warmth of life and blood. Beneath this skin, a glorious treasure could be found. If such beauty could be found above, what sacred sights could be hidden below? I set the blade on him. The cold steel raised goosebumps on him. He could still feel.

The realization hit me like a sickness. What could they give him that would leave him like this, and yet conscious? And why? Revenge? The weight of the little knife made a lovely dimple in his skin. I pressed my other hand to the soft flesh above his heart. My blood ran onto his skin and puddled between my fingers. I could feel his heart flutter within its cage. A young and beautiful bird, longing to be free. I could imagine the feel of cutting into him. A long, gentle stroke. The snapping of sinews. I could wrench apart his bones and explore this wonderful boy in the most intimate way I knew. I desired it. Better it were me, than the bloodthirsty man across from me, after all. Then I caught sight of Peter's soft bowed mouth. It seemed almost smiling, even now. Small boy. Beautiful, perfect boy. No... one doesn't do things like this.

"I won't." I said, pulling back.

"You won't, or you can't, Miss Wendy?" Hook taunted.

I considered, petting the back of the knife fondly, wetting it in my own blood and admiring it in the lamplight, "No, I _can_. I just won't."

Hook looked down at the knife in his hand, then back at me, flustered. He grabbed the knife back from me, "Fine. Be that way." He made a show of raising a knife above his prisoner. He opened his eyes and furrowed his brows in a most fearsome way.

I licked blood from my fingers, "I would not bother with that, Captain Hook."

"What?"

"Since you will kill us both anyway, you might as well know: You will not find what you seek in this boy's body." He stared. I shrugged, "It's not there."

His black-lined eyes widened, then narrowed, "The fairy lied to me."

"No. You just misunderstood."

He took this as an insult, gasping, "I did not! She said... It was in his heart." A youthful frustration took him when he realized his mistake. He yelled, and took the knife to my Peter. Peter twisted against his bonds. If he made a sound, I could not hear it over my own cries. Hook drew aside muscle like a curtain. Inside, the boy was made of light. Glistening rubies and diamonds, held in by caring ivory fingers. A dewy crimson web wrapped and wove into him. Its roots grasped at the muscle that pulled away from him. They cried in pain as their perfection was desecrated.

Suddenly I was on the table, standing over him. I was supposed to protect them, I was supposed to protect them all. I bit and iron bit me. I spit and I pulled at the devil's hair. It was his blood under my fingernails now. I found myself with a knife in my hand again. His hook was in my side, but I had a blade to his throat.

"I will give you..." I gasped for breathe, leaning in, "I can give you what you want. Only leave him alone."

"Surely," He swallowed hard, "You jest."

"I gave Tinkerbell her life. I may just return yours," forced the steel to his skin. I backed him up to pick up the crocodile blade.

"Life is nothing to me," He said.

"Liar," I cut the leather binding his hook to his stump and took a deep breathe at the movement of iron under my flesh.

"Can you give me my youth?" I hung the leather strap around my arm to keep the hook from ripping out by force of gravity. My ears pricked at the sound of patting feet outside the door. "Can you give me eternity?"

"I cannot make you something you are not." I pressed Hook to the base of the table, and made him sit.

"Alright... what am I then?"

I didn't answer. The answer came up from behind him, and the shadow rose up behind me.

"A codfish," said Peter.

Then a great ringing of swords and bells began outside, as the boys attacked.


	14. Thimble

"Help him," I told the shadow. It threw aside Peter's bonds and raised his shining body from the table. My lips were dry. The floor was slick. Hook licked his lips.

"Your pirates will soon be defeated, Jas Hook," said Peter. His shadow was the very silhouette of the strength in his voice; legs set wide, rooted to the floor. The boy's bright, broken frame was cradled in strong arms of his own darkness. He was a wraith, made only of light and wishes. Fairy dust dripped from his wounds. But Hook could not see this. He felt the movement behind him, and went still, listening for some sign of the approach, "What are we to do with you, then?" Peter grinned impishly, "Can you really turn him into a codfish, Wendy?"

"I could give him gills..." I said, eying his neck and watching the man squirm, "It's better than he deserves."

"What do you say to that, Hook?" said Peter with joy, "Go on, Wendy. Slit his neck!"

"Peter! You don't really mean that, do you?"

He thought about this, "No... I suppose not." I lowered my blade to the man's belly. He swallowed hard, stuttering.

"Now now, you heard the boy. You... you said you could give me what I desired: I certainly..." I touched the knife to his shirt, he shrank away, "Certainly don't want this..."

I sliced his shirt up to the collar and he yelped. I snatched the keys from his side, then examined my patient. I watched his heavy breathing, the trickle of sweat down the ropes of his neck. The sweet grace of youth was fading from him. Muscles were knotted. Veins were tangled. The skin that clothed him was worn, hardened, like rags wet with red clay mud and left in the sun. Under the cracking exterior it was thin.

"Jas Hook, you are a wretched and horrible thing. You have been selfish, cruel, and a fool..." I touched his threadbare cheek, frowning, "You are frightened..." His skin was soft, but only as crushed and rumpled linen exposes it's broken fibers and becomes velvet in its destruction, "You are still only a child. You never did grow up. That is all I can give you." I strapped the man to the table. He began to speak. In frustration, I shoved his shirt in his mouth.

"Leave me alone, I cannot think in here," I began to shake. I found the wall, and helped myself to the floor by the huddled forms of Peter and his shadow. Cold hands were on my neck, my back. The boy relaxed into one form as I watched. The weight of Peter's peril was suddenly in sharp focus, the shape of his pain was in the shadow on the wall. Where were my needles? Too much sweet life puddled around our feet. I searched my satchel. The hook in my side screamed for my attention.

I think perhaps the sounds of battle were outside. I think maybe Hook taunted me. I did not hear them.

"Wendy," began Peter.

"I am not afraid," I took his hand and sank to the floorboards. My needles were far across the room, "Peter?"

"Yes."

"Will you come home with me when this is over?"

"You know I cannot, Wendy. I will never grow up."

I closed my eyes, "You could if you wanted to."

He laughed and it hurt, "I cannot. The fairies told me."

"The fairies told you wrong. You can be whatever you want to be."

"I want to live here, and always have fun."

"Are you having fun now, Peter?" He was quiet at this. His lungs, his heart, too quiet. I began to cry, "I want to go home."

Slowly, he nodded. Then, squeezing his eyes shut, rose into the air. He took my hand in both of his, trembling, I felt him slip the thimble on my finger,"If the Wendy girl wishes it, I will take her home. I gave her my kiss." I felt myself drifting as he looked at me from up there.

"Come closer," I said softly. He did. I pulled him to me. I put my cheek against his, and whispered in his ear. I let my lips brush his cheek, thinking to leave a kiss there, but found his lips. Only for a moment we touched, and for that moment I felt as if I occupied the same space as him. As if his cage were mine, and our lungs were joined. It felt as if the dust of my being were pressed up against the wall of my skin, attempting to escape into the air, into him. The air was full of dust; caught in our lashes, it coated our tongues. It rose from the floor in threads, and found its way to my fingers. I put my hands to his chest, he was a tapestry and I wove him with the thread of the fairies.

Peter floating back from me. He held out his hands to present the miraculous recovery to me, beaming with pride. I might have laughed, but the hook's thick iron hold was strong and pressed me to stillness.

"Don't worry, Wendy," said Peter, flying to the door, "I will find your brothers, then I will rescue you," and he was gone. I heard him crow from the deck, and I heard the pirates shout. He must look a truly terrifying, vengeful spirit now. It would be an even more fearsome sight than his shadow alone. I smiled. In my mind I saw his small spark dancing through dark sky. At my feet, the sea was sanguine, soft, lapping at my ankles.

Hook spat the cloth from his mouth, "What did you tell him?"

"I told him he was perfect. And he believed me." The sea washed over me, warm and blazing with life. I drowned.


	15. The End of Jas Hook

I had been drained, and left hollow. A cold mist had settled into me where I once had a heart and lungs, and a low hum of pain undercut everything. My brothers knelt beside me. Micheal's red hair was spattered with drops of blood and John rested a long rapier across his lap. Micheal took my hand when he saw I had woken.

"Wendy!"

"Boys, why did you not leave me as I asked? You are in danger still," I spoke slowly, throat cracked as if it were filled with dry leaves.

"No Wendy! We could not leave our sister!" said Micheal.

"And I dare say we have the upper hand, now," added John, "Come along, we must get you out of this dreadful room." He wrinkled his nose.

Micheal held out a silver flask out to me, "John says he's seen you use spirits to cure wounds."

"You've seen me sewing?" I hung my head.

"Why are you ashamed, Wendy? Father says medicine is a noble endeavor," said John.

"Oh John, I am a terrible person inside. I think horrible things."

"Never mind that now, show us how to free you from this evil weapon." He pointed to the hook. I explained its removal to them in a few, painful words. John, having more steady hands, pulled it from me like a long thorn from the lion's paw, while Micheal held a roll of liquor-drenched cloth to the area. The sting of it was terrible. Loosening my vest, they wrapped me tight in a red sash and helped me to my feet.

"Where is Hook?" I asked. I lurched to one side, nearly toppling my younger brother. He laughed and hugged me around the waist to hold me upright. I cringed.

"He is captured with the other pirates, of course," said John.

The two small boys almost carried me up the stairs. My knees would not hold. We emerged into a gauzy blue mist. The bright sun was setting, cutting through the cooling air as red blades. I had not been asleep for long. Toodles saw us first and pushed Michael away to help carry me. Panting, he relinquished his heavy load the larger boy.

"Look!" yelled Slightly, "We have captured the crew!"

John had been right, the pirates were defeated; gagged and tied to the main mast. The Captain stood at the front, last taken.

"Well..." admitted Nibs in a low voice, "Peter frightened them so, we had little to do..."

"We tied the ropes!" interrupted one of the twins.

Nibs continued in a gleeful, conspiratorial whisper, "They thought him a dead creature, sent back from death itself to take their souls, for their sins against him."

"But we knew Hook could never get our Peter. He's much too clever for that!" said Toodles.

"And I knew you were both alive," said Micheal, helping me to sit, "I knew it was a trick."

"They came to poison him, but he detected the taste, and spat it out!" said Slightly.

"I think he only disliked it..." said John, loftily.

"It makes a better story if I detected it," Peter appeared from nowhere, landing on the deck behind me, Tinkerbell jingling just behind him.

"You did, did you not?" asked a twin.

"Of course I did," said Peter. He went up directly to the Captain, who pointedly looked past him, sneering in pride. Peter considered the man for a moment, then turned away. Breezy as a summer play-date he asked us, "What do we do now?"

No one answered. Slightly had one small hand on a sword and the other on his necklace. One twin looked angry, the other looked to the mainland. Nibs shrank from the question. Toodles and my brothers looked to me. I only shook my head, "I want to go home."

One of the twins nodded, "Back to the hideout."

"No... _home_."

"And what of the pirates? What about them? Do we just let them go?" asked the other twin.

I did not know. Tinkerbell spoke and Peter translated for my brothers, "She says not all these men are evil; many were only mislead by Hook."

"We shall give him a fair trial then," said John, straightening his hat, "And then behead him."

The boys all agreed, it seemed just. John was very pleased with himself. Peter pulled the gag from Hooks mouth. He let John preside, as he had never seen any legal proceedings.

"How do you plead?" asked John.

"I'll not be judged by a court of children."

"This is the only court we have, and you have wronged, so you must be judged."

He spoke impatiently, "What are the charges?".

"Kidnapping, murder... and... being really... really awful to my sister."

Hook laughed, "Fine, fine... guilty."

"Guilty?" said Peter, "That's not any fun."

"Yet, guilty I am," said Hook, smiling, "I ask just one thing, make the cut clean, and grant me a quick execution."

"I should think not," said Slightly, "He should not be beheaded, that is far too kind after what he has done."

"Do what you will then, but please, don't let me drown. It is every sailors' fear to be drowned in the sea."

"Let's make him walk the plank!" cried Slightly. The boys cheered. Peter cut Hooks bonds and the lot of them brought the man to the edge of the boat. I watched from my seat on the deck. They held him at the points of the their weapons, but he walked calmly. He stood on the rail of the ship, steady. Then suddenly, he pulled out a knife. It glinted briefly in the falling sun, but before any of us could think anything, he had plunged it into his own chest. His lips moved wordless. Then he turned, taking a ragged breath, and dove into the sea.

The boys returned to me. Their faces showed varying levels of confusion, disgust, and sadness. A mix of feelings that I'm sure was reflected in my own. Only Peter's expression remained unmoved. He went to the mast and cut free one more man.

"Mr. Smee," said Peter, "The Jolly Roger is yours now, as it should have been long ago. Wait until we have gone, then free your crew."

Mr. Smee bowed a little, "Of course."

Even Slightly was eager to leave now, "Back to the hideout?" he asked.

"No," I said, "John, Micheal, we must return home." They agreed. The boys protested.

"Don't leave us, please, I've never had a mother," said Toodles.

"I cannot be a mother, I don't know how. But my mother, she will take care of you... Lost boys, come with us. I'm sure I can convince our parents to take you in."

They were greatly cheered by this idea. Tinkerbell left us, saying she had her own family to return to now, and they would be worried. We all joined hands and flew into the soft night, and straight on until dawn. We returned from that upside-down world as the still gray light of our city's morning had just begun. The window was still open as we'd left it. My brothers and I went in directly, leaving the boys to sit sheepishly on the windowsill. Our parents were sleeping in our beds, noses pressed to our covers for familiar and comforting smells. John went to turn on the lights, while Micheal and I lay next to Mother. She jumped up.

"George!" she called my father's name, "Oh Wendy! Micheal! John! Have I dreamed of you so often that I see you when I am awake?" She gasped. My father also jumped at the vagabond children standing in his window.

"Good heavens. Children, where have you been and who are these... these..."

"Mother, Father," I said, "These are the Lost Boys. They have no parents. Would you please take them in?"

My mother plucked at the torn edges of Peter's vest, and the bloodied remains of my gown in concern.

"We haven't really got enough..." started Father.

"I'm Toodles!" said Toodles, leaping down from the window and extending his hand for a shake.

"Yes... hello," said Father.

"Slightly!" said Slightly, throwing his arms around him, "Can I call you 'Father'?!".

"Perhaps it's a bit soon for that..."

"Where have you been?" My mother asked me, "What have you been doing?"

I snuggled into her soft nightgown. She smelled of rose water.

"It's a long story... may I tell you in the morning?"

Now the twins presented themselves to Father. He puzzled over their lack of names, and, being a decisive man, gave them some. Andrew and Simon. Peter stood back from all this. At first I thought he was pleased, but as I watched, his smile seemed faltering. As his brothers were adopted, one by one, he made himself look happy for them. Finally, Father turned to him.

"And you are?"

"Peter. But I'm not staying, kind sir."

"Why no?"

"I will never grow up."

"Nonsense," said Father, "You look nearly a man now."

Peter looked down.

"Peter, please stay with us. You should not be all alone," I said.

"I cannot, I am going to live forever, as a boy," then, with a stubborn smile, he flew out, shutting the window behind him.

"Don't you worry, he'll be back," said Mother, "Now, all of you, sleep."


End file.
